Cards :Sky edition
by NuttersAscend
Summary: These are a narration of stories from a spectator who'd seen what happened in an alternate reality. And he tells the tales in order of cards: Joker, Heart, Club, Diamond, Spade. (revamped, check profile for details)


The fanfic's got a lot of vague references .Well, it ain't direct ,that's for sure. So ...tell me if you guys get confused

By the way, wanna guess who the next chapter's 'bout?

Feel free to write any comments and enjoy the fanfic

* * *

 **INTRODUCTION**

There was a puppeteer who lived in the shadows. Well, maybe it's more fitting to call him a spectator

The play this time was very enthralling...

It was about cards... that's what he'd tell you. Elaborate on that? Well, that'll simply ruin it. You don't want to be a bore, do you?

Want to hear about it? He says he'll narrate the five tales to you

On the corner of a town lived a man who was forgotten by the world. His existence seemed a mystery

There was no being who could attest to his presence. It was as if the world rejected him

He was powerful. But... he was aloof, uncaring, unaffected and unattached

Pushing up his glasses, the man turned around to tell the story:

* * *

 **JOKER**

The town I lived in was surrounded by green. It was extremely lovely

It wasn't fancy or business oriented. It didn't have attractions or tourist places. Nor was its services or culture particularly attractive

But it was homely and accommodative.

As a matter of fact, it was right in the middle of the scale and perfect to hide away

And the place never changed... until the beginning of a particular era.

This is one of the tales which happened parallelly. Surprised? Yes, all of them happened without influencing each other in the beginning...

What about the end? Well, I don't spoil endings

A play was taking place. Who knows, it might be interesting this time, or maybe, you might consider it tasteless.

* * *

Lately, the town seemed to have gotten relatively noisy.

It all began when some new people dressed in black reached a house

It had the most friendly atmosphere. Maybe it was because of the people who lived there

A man with a dull yellowish hair introduced his boss to a child with innocence emanating from his very pores

His big brown eyes seemed very curious, but seemed to be taken in with the boss' kind presence

There appeared to be unconditional acceptance, as the child toddled over to know more about the stranger

The stranger stunk of blood if you ask me. Only those who are eccentric would fancy a skunk.

Slightly surprised, he couldn't help flinching away from the harmless baby. This powerless entity had sufficiently spooked the feared mafia don.

It was a long time since anyone approached him without caution, much less the careless regard and childish curiosity exhibited right at him- a stranger.

The child was throwing caution out of the window!

The smiles given to the old man later made him feel like crying.

A fire erupted when the boy went to play outside. It was something he never wanted to see. For it was something which would alter the boy's life forever — a change which he would never like to burden him with, solely because of the sheer resemblance of the man known so famously underground.

Thus, it was sealed... so that the head hunt wouldn't begin.

* * *

The chestnut haired boy grew up and was rather infamously known to be useless

A target of bullying, scorn and hatred. A hopeless case, given up by all living there. Beaten down to extreme levels, his self esteem and confidence similarly plummeted... and the boy just gave up

Then came another in black, a hitman- the modern version of the reaper himself, and held the kid at gunpoint and gave him a final option: He could choke and drown in his blood, or else, he could showcase and flaunt his convictions.

Chaos barged inside with a whirlwind, but the boy refused immediately- never intending on hurting anyone.

The very definition of a devil to the brunette was the cute little hitman who loved challenges enough to compromise his pupils' safety and was too self-confident even to consider the possibility that he could fail.

The bullet shot by the devil invoked a madman who refused to follow his actual resolution or will, but ironically, it was called the dying will bullet.

He never did want to tell his feelings for the pretty auburn haired woman that way.

He didn't want to resolve the whole situation by violence or even impairing someone else's social life. Being an outcast hurt and he should know, shouldn't he?

His desires seemed to be multiplied to an extremcities. He didn't want to go that far.

But his reasonings were ignored, his plight beaten down.

* * *

Whenever other bullets were shot at him, new people started getting involved in the shady business forced onto him.

The people were good... no great people! And their lives are as good as in the reapers' hands now!

He panicked and tried to change their minds. But bullets were shot at him whenever he attempted to, one for every attempt made. They were cruel, and they left no traces on his skin and no proof of his struggles.

If he died here, who was going to keep them away from that satanic baby?!

But babies love to cling to their toys. This one was no exception.

Sooner or later, people started gathering around him. Sure, they were strange but ultimately, they were good people.

Nothing he could do or say would keep them away either. They were bleeding souls and weeping angels.

* * *

Ten bullets were shot at him.

Then he was told that he'd die. 'Tis was no joke, no laughing matter.

Following that, he found himself chasing after a guy, a guy who could cure him; but was a doctor who shunned his Hippocratic oath.

It seemed as if nothing he did mattered. His choices seemed utterly futile. His future wouldn't seem to want to change.

He decided he would protect those who mattered to him- the ones that stayed by his side. He would do so, 'til his last dying breath. Perhaps he'd sing a hushed lullaby to them and sing them to sleep - a death knell to him, a siren's song for them.

Even if one of them almost killed him... because that pineapple seemed to want to be at his side in his own way. Their bonds formed comforting blankets that wrapped him tight and snuggled him warmly.

The rag tag team which was formed mostly from the tango of the chaos, with its tune orchestrated by the baby, and the others who were basically family, became so dear to him that he could do almost anything for them.

Well, almost anything... because... he still couldn't bring himself to kill for them.

He couldn't forget the look of disappointment in his mentor when he couldn't pull the trigger.

No matter how much lecturing he got from the baby on how you have to kill to survive the underworld, he couldn't pull someone's life plug.

His circle got bigger and bigger, until he had his hands full. The boy was frantically trying to protect them from his opponents who were quickly catching on.

The assassins who were hearing the news, his mentor who gave them life risking challenges, the gangs who tried to kill them, etc., etc. Basically, there were no end to the threats that could challenge him. They towered over him and became indestructible walls.

* * *

His family seemed pretty suicidal too. They jumped into every mess straight on, necks in deep.

He constantly checked his hair, hoping that the stress didn't make him bald.

Every big battle brought them to the hospital.

The biggest one, with the external assassin group of the his syndicate to be ( no buts, no excuses, Tsuna.) brought him nightmares even now.

They were admitted- all of them - in the hospital. Even the all mighty prefect was stuck there.

It haunted him.

His older brother figure's never bending spirit and his subsequent beaten form.

His best friend's sacrifice of his sport lauded by his injuries (Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words would never hurt me. Now, is that really true?)

His other best friends' almost suicidal decision- his very own martyr.

The prefect who could not be challenged; he had been made a stepping stone.

The incomplete illusionists who shouldn't have had to participate. How much would he have to take from them?

And the child who was forced to participate in a death match who could not fathom the odds against him.

The usually confident baby's face had that helpless look too- a crumbling pillar, a crumbling foundation.

It was his fault... he wasn't strong enough to protect them.

* * *

He himself didn't know why they were fighting and why they are still fighting.

 _Why couldn't they just stay in peace! Why couldn't they live a life without crime?!_

Why should he have that constant fear that the nooses around their necks can snap their lives anytime?!

But in the end, he was forced to go along with being in the Mafia. It wasn't his choice and they had no other options left.

Who had fate's die?

To get the heir to become stronger, the trial had passed. But it also gave the heir to be hope, for he would fail because he wasn't Mafia material.

* * *

At the test of inheritance, he looked straight ahead at the one who started this whole mess.

The founder of the organization, who was sitting in a chair, looked very composed. Surrounding him, were the other bosses, with flames so alluring beautiful yet so dangerous.

Gritting his teeth at the people responsible for getting so many people get hurt and endangering the ones he cared about, he looked even more furious at their suggestion of inheriting their sin.

When he shouted that he'd burn the organisation down, somehow he passed the trial with flying colors.

It left him with bitter, bitter feelings.

Even though he could protect other people from danger, he couldn't be given the choice to protect his own from any kind of danger.

There were times when he felt that if he just let the bullet hit him, everything might just be over.

But ultimately he couldn't bring himself to do so. He was too selfish... he wanted to still spend more time with his family.

In the end... he couldn't keep that vow very well.

He became a Mafia boss and now his friends had killed people. He saw his older brother and best friend at their worst, crying for the life taken. He even watched them become more sombre, more wary, more expectant towards a grim future. Yet, they chose to remain.

And yet... he couldn't still pull the trigger. If he had to see them like this, he'd rather kill the ones he hurt, himself.

But... as expected... he couldn't pull it. He couldn't stab someone. He couldn't burn them alive. He could not utilize his arsenal to their fullest extent, to use them for what they were intended- their true purpose.

 _He couldn't kill them..._

His hands wouldn't stop shaking, he instinctively didn't kill them, his eyes stop focusing, and he couldn't stop sweating profusely.

His frustration did no good for him, because he couldn't do everything with feelings alone.

If the brunette would think about it, he did keep his promise. Even if the organisation was officially affiliated with the Mafia, they were more like the vigelante.

But what the man wanted to protect, he just couldn't achieve.

Even if he didn't want to worry them with the anguish he felt when a member of the famiglia died; he couldn't hold back his cries of despair nor his tears. Nor could he keep his famiglia from figuring it out.

Their renewed will for protecting each other, especially the boss, even if it meant resorting to killing didn't help him at all.

It just meant, it was more difficult to protect them now.

* * *

 **Then came the finale.**

A rather smart man figured out how exactly can you damage the most powerful man underground.

So he started with weakening the vanguards with special rays. When implemented, it triggered disasters.

The young Mafia boss looked at the new reports in shock, his hands trembling.

From then on, that trembling seemed to get worse.

His family was targeted and they were slowly getting beaten.

Not only that, the babies, who were pillars of support for him, though small but extremely reliable were slowly disappearing.

Sending people to investigate the cause and giving his mentor easy missions while lying through his teeth, he desperately tried to keep them safe.

But when a lie to the world's greatest hit man/tutor actually goes through, you know there's something up.

Eventually, when the cause was determined and preventions could be made... It was too late.

* * *

 **Six down, just one to go.**

 _And that one could only be bedridden._

Seeing the being whom he had always thought invincible lying on the bed with IVs sticking out of him, a faint beep being the only sound out of the room, his world seemed to be getting dimmer.

The people whom he needed his entire arms to protect, reduced to a _handful._

So he first destroyed the rings. The battle was lost, but there was no need to give the prize to the winner.

He sent the rest to other places, hoping for a final gamble... _with him playing to win._

Then he entered the pure white room, his steps dignified, as the last show of respect towards his mentor.

The white room had everything in it dressed in white.

White for purity, white for good and white for the people who lived above.

It wasn't a color which could suit him anymore.

He wore black everyday as a memoir, or maybe as a funeral clothing, in memory of those who've left.

 _It also hid blood stains._

* * *

In the centre sat the man who was responsible for his organisation to stand on its last leg.

His merry smile and bubbly voice seemed to be fading into the background as the Mafia boss' vision started getting more clearer, sound being a compensation.

* * *

Negotiations failed...

* * *

Bullets rang...

* * *

The chaos started with a bullet, now it ends with one...

* * *

Riddled with bullets, his suit which was chosen by his father and his mentor, both looking proud at their selection, tore many holes...

Both were gone from his life. He didn't have any parents anymore.

In his final breath, his mind wandered to one thing.

'If there is any God... could you grant me just one wish, _just one is fine_... _I beg of you... Please.. please protect my family._

Even if I'm condemned to hell as a criminal... I'll go through the 6 realms... _no ,even a 100 or a 1000_ but please grant me just that one wish...'

The white haired man's smile had a bit of annoyance at the minor setback of broken rings.

Munching his marshmallows, he smiled to himself at another success, one more to add to millions.

* * *

After all; the joker is not important without any other card backing it up.

And the joker has no role, and is only given a role because of the other cards.

It's useless, just like that title he had once, long ago... ' _Dame-Tsuna_ '

The Vongola was no more- every member had been slaughtered. _Not one escaped._


End file.
